When I pulled back the studio window’s drapes, I was surprised to see more snow falling. Yesterday’s warmth had melted every bit of it from the branches of the trees. Now, once again, the world was a wonderland.
I noticed that a few little chickadees were huddled on the branches of the lilac bush above the rocks where I pour sunflower seeds for them and their friends. Ten minutes after I delivered the morning’s supply, the cardinals, jays, titmice, and mourning doves joined them, flying in from every direction.
The snow was falling so heavily that the birds were hardly visible in the lilac’s branches. But I welcomed their color, as subdued as it seemed. It reminded me that beneath the snow, flowers slept. I planted new bulbs in the fall. I like that little ritual. It provides me with quiet little bursts of anticipation as I plod through winter’s dark and often colorless days.
I wondered if, on some level, the birds perching in the lilac sensed the dreams of the fragrant blossoms that the tree held deep in its cells. I hope so. And I hope those dreams wrapped them in joy, even as the sparkling snow fell around them.